I love the carillon

The girl swings her heavy hair into William’s arm, making his coffee
slosh over the Styrofoam cup. She smiles but doesn’t apologize;
apparently he’s supposed to take the physical contact as a recompense.
Half the coffee has spilled. The clerk at the outdoor snack-stand
notices him refilling his cup and demands an extra twenty-five cents.
The girl is already gone, sitting on a bench under a eucalyptus tree.
The December climate makes William irritable. Sunlight slams into his
forehead, and the lush Santa Ynez mountains yawn at his foul spirits.
He carries his coffee to Van Orman Tower, where he will spend the next
forty-five minutes playing Christmas carols on the carillon. Then he
will go to the auditorium to administer the final exam for his music
theory course. Finals week is ending; the campus is almost deserted.
Everywhere you can hear the gossip of palm and eucalyptus.

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